Drowning Sorrows
by Razzaroo
Summary: "It's March 1985 and Mikhail Gorbachev has taken over the presidency of the Soviet Union. Lithuania feels his grip tighten on the bottle of vodka in his hand, as if it's the only thing keeping him anchored." [Deanon from the kink meme, filling a request for a Nation struggling with alcoholism.]


**A/N. Another kink meme deanon. Ah, kink meme; despite all your problems, I just can't quit you.**

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><p>It's March 1985 and Mikhail Gorbachev has taken over the presidency of the Soviet Union. That night, Lithuania joins the other Soviet Republics <em>(god, he hates that phrase!) <em>in Russia's basement for a small celebration. They, like many others, can feel change coming. Will it be for the better? Lithuania doesn't want to say.

They had, after all, thought things would change for the better after Stalin died.

Russia finds them only a few hours later. They freeze, all of them terrified except Belarus. Russia loathes to be kept out of the loops, hates it when they don't tell him everything they're doing. Estonia coughs and straightens his glasses whilst Latvia does his best to try and shrink behind Ukraine. Lithuania feels his grip tighten on the bottle of vodka in his hand, as if it's the only thing keeping him anchored.

"Don't look so scared," Russia says, his smile still as calm as ever, "This is a happy day, yes? A new era for the glorious Union!"

Lithuania is the first one to smile back and deep down he's glad that Russia interrupted.

It keeps the others from noticing how much he's drinking.

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><p>It's early 1986 and Russia is starting to enforce Gorbachev's "dry laws" under his own roof; any Nation caught being drunk when they're supposed to be working is punished. Even Russia has started to cut back on his drinking, so as to set a good example (<em>or so he says<em>), while Lithuania manages to smuggle a bottle of vodka into his room at night.

Gorbachev's prohibition policies might be working wonders on alcoholism rates but Lithuania feels the blow coming to the economy as alcohol production moves to the black market. He's not stupid; he remembers America's prohibition and how well that worked. He sits up in bed and fills an old flask with the alcohol; his hands shake sometimes while he's at work and he knows that drinking is the only way to make it stop.

"I can control it," he whispers, his throat still burning slightly from his last swallow. His head feels empty, light as a cloud, "It's not that much."

He takes another swig, "Not really."

It's nearing the end of 1986 and winter has rolled in over Russia's house, bringing with it frigid winds and high tempers as Nations start to get frustrated with being cooped up together for the long winter days. Russia alone seems to be able to keep smiling, tough Lithuania sometimes sees that calm smile crack and a frown try to break through.

Latvia trails him as he does the laundry, helping him strip the beds and rattling off a list of things that the kitchen is running low on. Lithuania can feel a red monster rising up in his chest, a beast borne out of frustration and annoyance at the fact that Latvia just will not shut up. He keeps his back turned as much as possible, to keep Latvia from seeing his scowl. It's when Latvia voices an innocent remark about whether Russia will allow him to have the weekend off that Lithuania snaps.

"I don't know, Latvia!" he near enough shouts, "How the hell should I know? Why don't you ask Russia yourself rather than rabbitting on to me all the time?!"

Latvia looks taken aback, shocked and slightly hurt by Lithuania's outburst. Breaking through the red monster, Lithuania feels an almost instant pang of regret. He feels nauseous.

"I'm sorry, Latvia," he says, rubbing his temple. He reaches into his coat pocket and withdraws his flask with a shaking hand, "I don't…it's been a long week, all right?" He unscrews the cap, "Why don't you go and see if Ukraine needs any help?"

Latvia bites his lip and watches as Lithuania took a drink from the flask, "But I was told to help you-"

"I know," Lithuania says, his voice bordering on a snap. He takes a deep breath and wills his hands to stop shaking, "I know. Just…I don't need your help right now, OK?"

Latvia nods but that look of concern never melts away.

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><p>It's early 1987 and Lithuania just wants to sink into the ground. He can't bring himself to get out of bed and he pulls the covers up over his head whenever someone enters the room. For now, he's relatively undisturbed; Ukraine makes sure that no one enters, though both of them know that Russia coming to see him is inevitable.<p>

He smothers a sob in his pillow; he feels helpless, anxious, and nauseous.

There's a knock on the door and Ukraine's voice comes through, thin and concerned, "Lithuania? Russia's here to see you. Are you OK?"

Lithuania coughs and reaches for the bottle under the bed. It's in that moment that he remembers something America used to say to him: "_Prohibition can be a good thing, y'know? Keeps people from drowning all their sorrows and all."_

He can't help but laugh, even as he unscrews the cap on the bottle.

What would America say if he saw his old friend Lithuania now?

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><p>It's March 1990 and Lithuania is about to tell Russia, in person, that he's declaring his independence. He's broken out in a sweat and he shakes. He chalks this up to nerves; it's no small feat to declare to one of the most terrifying men in Europe that he's leaving to stand on his own again after nearly fifty years.<p>

Russia's office door looms up in front of him, heavy, imposing and dark. Lithuania pauses in front of it, steeling himself to enter. He wasn't the first to break away from Russia, or at least to start to; if others could do it, there was no reason he couldn't. He took his flask out of his pocket and took a long swallow, wanting to ease his nerves and stop the shaking.

He opens Russia's door without knocking and Russia looks up at him with steel in his eyes. Lithuania sucked in a deep breath. He could still feel the fire of the vodka pooling in his stomach.

"I'm leaving," he said, "My government's agreed on it. The state of Lithuania is to be re-established." He took another deep breath, clearing his head, "And I am leaving this house."

Russia's lip curled, "Really now?"

"Yes."

Russia stands up and walks around his desk to stand in front of Lithuania, towering over him, "And you think it will be that easy?"

Lithuania swallows, "It won't be easy. But you can't stop me."

Russia's glare slowly turns into that calm, easy smile, as if he's completely confident that yes, he can stop Lithuania from leaving if he wants. Toris refuses to shrink back from him. He can't let Russia scare him anymore, even with nerves eating through his stomach and anxiety sitting heavy on his shoulders. He lifts his chin and turns on his heel to leave.

"Toris," Russia says when he reaches the door. Lithuania exhales and turns to face him again. Russia's smile hasn't changed, "You might want to sort out that little drinking problem if you want the West to take you seriously."

Lithuania tightens his grip on the door handle, "Goodbye, Ivan."

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><p>It's spring 2004 and Lithuania has been accepted into the European Union. He's managed to get a handle on his drinking over the past few years. Now, it's been a year since he was last drunk and two months since his last drink. He still struggles with his anxiety but the less he drinks, the easier it is for him to keep on top of it. As Poland says, it's easy to fight one enemy than two pulling him apart at once.<p>

Poland clings to him as they leave the hotel in Brussels. Locked in one of Poland's ferocious hugs, they wheel around on the pavement, causing strangers to give them a wide berth. England raises his eyebrow at them and rolls his eyes but doesn't say anything.

"Ah, Liet," Poland says, slowing his whirls but not letting go of Lithuania's shoulders, "We're, like, officially Europe now. And we chose it. No more being pushed into something by Russia!"

Lithuania has to admit, it is a little surreal. They're not Schengen Area yet but there's also no Iron Curtain between them and the West anymore.

"Yeah," he says, extracting himself from Poland's arms, "It's a good feeling."

Poland beams at him, "How about we go try out one of Belgium's bars to celebrate? We'll split the bill."

Lithuania thinks back to 1987, when he'd struggled to get out of bed, and to 1990 when Russia had tried to use his drinking against him to keep him from leaving. He remembers needing alcohol enough that he'd smuggle it into his room. He doesn't want that again.

"Sure," he says, "You don't mind if I stick to the soft drink, right?"

Poland claps him on the shoulder, "No problem. That's way cheaper for me, Liet."


End file.
